Am I not good enough?
by DarkPheonix 666
Summary: Though England acts cocky, he is actually very aware of his own actions and attributes he tends to lack. Which causes him to question why France treats him so highly. FRUK, (No smut), Fluff, *Oneshot* Yaoi, Feels


**Probably the first time I've written an M fic without any smut**

 **however, plenty of FRUK Angst**

 **Please review, follow and favourite**

 **DarkPheonix666**

England at the bar gloomily, his eyes staring at his supposed boyfriend France standing at the other side of the bar surrounded by women. Not that it wasn't something he wasn't used to seeing. Ever since they were kids, France had been naturally beautiful. Both men and women wanted him, but for tonight he was a lady's man. Spoiling them with all his attention.

England huffed and took another small swig of beer. He was slightly tipsy but sober enough to remain calm and not say anything, still able to act like a gentleman if not somewhat sulky. They all looked so beautiful compared to himself. They looked far better beside France than the likes of himself. Compared to his blonde tousled locks and green eyes, they had silky hair and big colourful eyes.

Dressed up all fancy and to impress, while he went for another suit and tie, looking so ordinary. How was it that no matter how hard he tried, France always outdid him in everything? He gripped the glass of his booze quietly his eyes burning with anger and jealousy.

France was a gentleman (much like himself) and knew exactly how to charm people. However, compared to himself, he was a great cook and an expert in the field of seduction. He was a hopeless romantic and his capitol city, Paris was the city of love for Christ's sake. Women were naturally drawn to him, what with that bloody accent of his.

He couldn't hold a candle next to likes of France and he knew it. He had always known it ever since they were kids for crying out loud. He just hated to admit it to France because then he would be confirming that France had won. He would have lost yet another battle and that was something he refused to allow.

France was right about everything. Maybe his stubborn nature was what made him so unappealing to others and caused them to eventually drift from him. He sighed heavily and pulled out his wallet. He then paid for his drink and quietly left the bar, letting France continue to flirt with the ladies that were enjoying his company.

He would rather go through the worst torture possible than to let the likes of France see how ugly he looked right now. To see him making such a bitter expression over him being so obviously jealous. He would just tease him as per normal and show him up which he really didn't need.

* * *

"So, do you have a partner?" one of the girls asked hopefully her eyes bright with eagerness. She hoped not, she really wanted to get to know the blonde male a lot better. She had never met a foreigner before, at least one not this handsome and she was going to make the most of this situation while she still could.

France chuckled in amusement, now he had to look like a jerk after complimenting them so kindly. But he had never intended to bed any of them tonight anyway. Though he had his rumours, he was a serial monogamist. "Oui. My partner Arthur should be here somewhere" he teased. He hated to break their hearts, but Arthur would always be his beloved.

One of the girls looked annoyed folding her arms. "Really? I don't see any other guy here than you?" she protested crossly. He had come in with some other blonde guy, but she didn't see any boyfriend of his standing around here. He better not be messing with them, that would be too cruel.

France became confused and looked around the bar. He was surprised to find the girl had been right and there was no sign of Arthur anywhere in the bar at all. He became visibly worried, knowing from experience how poor a tolerance Arthur had for the drink. He wondered when he had slipped out without his knowledge.

For all he knew, he could be in the middle of a bar fight or puking his guts out somewhere in the street. Worse, he was not there to take care of him in that state. He moved away from the girls making them complain at his abandoning them. However, they lingered in the background as he made his phone call to his lover.

He had to make sure that England was ok. That he wasn't lying in a ditch somewhere or having a fist fight with a random person while he stood here in a bar. The phone rang for a while before England thankfully answered. He was relieved to know England was sober enough to be able to answer a phone call from him.

" _Hello?"_ England answered gruffly. What did he want? Weren't those girls at the bar getting upset at him not paying attention to him? Why did he just sod off and leave him to sulk in peace. He had made it home to his flat in peace, was now changed into comfy clothes and about to watch a movie. Then he got a phone call from the frog, how utterly wonderful. Not.

He just wanted to relax and have some alone time after the unpleasant tone of his previous environment. He didn't feel like drinking because it would only make him feel worse. It wouldn't take away his pain of seeing his boyfriend flirt with other people, or remove his own insecurities. So what was the point?

He just wanted to sulk and enjoy his misery for a while, was that so bad?. To dabble in the indulgence that was self-pity, I mean at the end of the day he was still human. Though he would never admit to anyone out of fear of his already lingering reputation, he even had a tub of ice cream in the freezer for such an occasion.

France was utterly stunned, not just at the tone of England's voice. But at the fact he was utterly sober for once. Not a slur or hint of booze ridden speech coming from his mouth. He wondered what on earth could be wrong with him to just up and leave without a word. "Angleterre? Ou êtes vous?" he asked curiously, worry laced in his tone.

England scoffed over the phone not buying any of it. He had completely ignored him the entire time he had been out at the bar. Now he was acting like the saint here. How ironic that it wasn't till he had left the bar and he was alone did he notice he was gone. Yet now he acted all worried and acted like the good boyfriend. Typical.

He knew what France was up to. He was trying to act like the good boyfriend and comfort him when upset. But he was still upset at him earlier and he wouldn't be fooled. "I'm _not_ drunk Frog. I am capable of looking after myself without your help, you know. What did you expect me to be lying next to a gutter?" he snapped bitterly his tone hateful.

France's eyes widened as he heard the bitter tone to England's voice. He was utterly stunned to hear him speaking in such a way towards him. He could sense the British male was seriously upset at him. Though he acted tough, England was in fact a very emotional person. He had just learned to endure after years of relying on nothing but himself since his years of being a very small nation.

But still, why had he left without speaking so much as a word to him? It wasn't like England at all to act this way. Red flags started going off in his head, warning him something wasn't right. His tone became more serious and filled with worry. He then took a deep breath "Quelque chose est arrive?" he asked sternly. He wanted to know that he was ok and not in harm's way.

England sighed heavily, his voice so loud it echoed down the phone. For all he was supposed to be the country of love, France was indeed a naïve individual in some areas. As shown by his actions earlier and inability to notice he was gone until too late. "Goodnight Francis" he replied dryly.

He then hung up the phone and turned it off so he wouldn't get any more calls. He just wanted to be alone right now, just hearing France's voice pissed him off further. How dare he act like he cared about him when he so easily ignored him when they were at that bar.

France flinched as England hung up the phone on him. Worry filling his veins and his heart beating fast within his chest. The red flags no more, replaced with sirens going off in his head. He kept thinking of where England could possibly be. He wondered if he went home or if he was sitting in one of the many parks located in his country. Sitting alone in the dark crying.

He couldn't stay here any longer. Knowing that England was alone and possibly in danger. He would never be able to concentrate with that thought eating away at him. He could never abandon his lover knowing they were in need of him so desperately while they were alone and feeling so bad.

He then put down the phone slowly gripping it tightly in his hands. He took a deep breath and slowly composed himself, all the while his mind running to every possible worst outcome. He then turned to the girls wearing one of his most infamous signature smiles. Causing all the girls to swoon in seconds. "Je suis désole les femmes. Mais je crains que mon petit ami ne suit re confortant" he replied charismatically.

The women gazed at him wide eyed dreamily. They then nodded obediently gazing at him with adornment, wondering how such a man could even exist outside their imaginations. France then headed out of the bar as fast as his legs would carry him. His blonde locks flowing behind him. Desperate to locate England and make sure he was ok.

* * *

England lay on his couch quietly curled up and eating a carton of ice cream. Vanilla, yes boring he knew but comforting. He had already finished half the carton of it. He was currently watching a classic movie, Bridget Jones Diary. Yes, for a man he did enjoy Romantic comedies quite a bit. In fact, he was quite partial to them every now and again.

Though it sounded strange, he could very much relate to the main character Bridget. As sad as it sounded, but he could somewhat understand her suffering through the movie. He was a poor drunk who has low self-esteem and didn't really excel much at anything. But apparently was a good fuck, as told by other people. God, how pathetic was that.

He wondered if France was only with him for the sex. Honestly, he wouldn't be surprised since that's all anyone ever spoke about when he came up in conversation. Suddenly he heard a knock at the front door distracting him. He paused the movie and put down the ice cream on the side of the coffee table next to the remote.

He then got up to answer the door, wondering the whole time who it could be at this time of night. Could he not just be alone to wallow in his own misery? As he walked down the hallway he eventually reached his front door. He then unlocked it and removed the chain quietly to open the front door and be met with the cool night air.

As he opened it he was stunned to be met with the face of a relieved and very worried looking France. Standing there in his coat, suit and scarf his breath heavy. He looked as though he had been running all through the streets of London looking for him, not that he was flattered by it in the least. In fact it just annoyed him even further.

He frowned and his body language became defensive. Making it obvious that he was far from pleased to see the Frenchman standing at his door. "What are you doing here? What? Those girls get tired of your company perhaps?" he snapped bitterly his eyes filled with anger. Had they seen what a complete ass he was?

Suddenly France pushed open the door and scooped England into a tight hug. His head burying itself in his shoulder, his arms wrapped around him shocking the Brit. He was terrified that England would be alone in his apartment crying or drunk somewhere and open to danger. Words could not convey how happy he was to know he was safe.

England was stunned by the impact of France's hug. He was clinging to him as if he was something fragile, like he could break at any second should he let go of him. However, he would not be swayed by this one gesture. He was genuinely hurt by his actions earlier. He came running to him after flirting with those women at the bar in front of him.

He pushed France away from him bitterly. Unclasping France's hold on him and keeping the distance between them, a hurt expression on his face as he glared France down. He was not like those women from the bar, he was not so easy as to be seduced like they were. He would not forget the pain that now lingered in his heart.

France was shocked and worried by this gesture from his lover. His blue eyes filled with hurt at being pushed away from England like this. Wanting to know the truth. "Pourquoi me repoussez-vous? Tes blessures, mais tu ne peux pas me le dire? Votre amant?!" he snapped in frustration. Just what had he done wrong? Just what had caused England to act so coldly towards him?

England stiffened, his green eyes turning dark, was France really being serious right now? The last amount of patience in him snapping. He then raised his hand and slapped France across the face hard. The sound echoing through the hallway loudly. France silenced with shock at the gesture.

England was known for being angry, short tempered or stubborn. He was known for teasing people and being mischievous or complaining at others. However, it took a lot for him to completely snap and hit someone the way he had just done to France. It only happened when he was truly angered or upset.

France turned to look at him in awe, his blue eyes as wide as the moon in the sky above them. Completely ignoring the red throbbing mark on his face. He then saw the tears spilling down England's face like an endless waterfall before his eyes. He felt so awful seeing England like this, so broken and upset.

"It's because of _you_ that I'm hurting you bloody frog! You just can't keep your hands of anyone, can you? You think I like seeing my _boyfriend_ surrounded by women?!" he yelled furiously. Did he enjoy hurting him like this? Making him snap and lose his composure because he poked and prodded enough. Because he was too stupid and dense to realize how his actions hurt other people.

France was visibly stunned, standing in the doorway his cheek now stinging in the night air. His eyes wide as he stared at England with disbelief upon his outburst and striking him. England had never acted like this before. Hell, he had never acted like he cared about him flirting with other women. He would always just sulk about it and never say anything.

England then turned away covering his face with one arm as he sobbed, tears spilling down his face still. He refused to let France see him looking so weak like this. "I'm average in looks. I can't fucking cook yet I still keep trying. I'm stubborn as an ass and I know this. I try and be a gentleman but all I'll ever be to you and everyone else is an Ex-Punk, a pirate and a pervert! Isn't that right!" England snapped defiantly trying to hold back his sobs.

France felt hurt, but also ashamed and ridden with guilt upon hearing this. He said that stuff but only as a joke. In truth, he loved England so much it hurt him, both physically and emotionally. He loved England's stunning green eyes and tousled blonde hair. The same eyes that were once gleaming with passion and made a man freeze just by looking them in the eye.

He'd always made sure to look after his body too. Even after all these years England's figure made him blush, still as erotic as it had been all those years ago. Making his heart beat and his body burn with an unbridled passion for him. Though England tended to cover it up more than he used to.

His cooking did suck, everyone knew this. But at least England tried that was what made it so endearing. His stubborn streak was actually very cute in France's eyes and one of the many reasons he loved him. Though he was a pervert and everyone knew this. He was also a once very powerful nation, taking others in a dominant sense and showing how he owned them.

Even after all these years later and he had now calmed down, France was still very wary of what England was capable of. Though he had become more docile and less wild, he was anything but a pushover. He knew not to test England enough that he would become a threat, but the likes of America was yet to learn this.

He only teased England because he would always react to him. He would never intentionally hurt England out of spite, he was not that kind of person. Never in his life would he dream of doing anything to lose him. He then walked forward and grabbed England by his arm and kissed him, his other hand pinning him by the shoulder. His lips pressed hard against the Brits in a passionate gesture.

England was caught off guard by this, but tried to fight back against France. Refusing to be won over by a simple kiss, he was still very upset at France about earlier. But France persisted, keeping his lips locked with England's. He then pinned England against the wall still kissing him hard, conveying his desire and love for the British male.

He ghosted his tongue around the Brits lips till he eventually opened them. Winding his tongue inside the Brit's tongue until they were French kissing, his most infamous kiss. They continued to make out until England eventually turned red in the cheeks and could no longer breathe. His knees turning weak from the passion of France's kiss.

He pulled away from France panting heavily. His cheeks flushed from lack of oxygen and slightly dazed. Completely unaware of the erotic expression he had on his face. His rosy cheeks from their intense kiss and his slightly red eyes from crying. He looked so cute and yet so erotic it was driving France inside looking at him.

France's cheeks were flushed from the kiss too. His hair now a mess due to breaking his composure, what with running around looking for England and that kiss just now. His expression was visibly pissed off and yet mixed with his unwavering desire of lust for the British male. His self-proclaimed maturity now more evident than usual.

"Oui Angleterre. You are imperfect. You lack a lot of things and are far from being perfect" France panted heavily his tone evident with his restrained frustrations. However, he softened and his eyes became pained yet loving "…But… you have eyes like jewels. Your hair is like the sun, so bright and I love the way you stand out no matter where you are" he started fondly.

He gripped his hold on England harder, but not enough to hold the male. His emotions becoming more evident, surprising the younger Brit to see France act this way. "You wear your heart on your sleeve no matter what. You just hate being alone and always have ever since we were kids. All you've ever wanted was to be loved!" he snapped.

Ever since they were young, England had desperately sought affection he had been starved of his whole life. The kind his own siblings had never shown him growing up that France had tried to convey and shower him with. The same reason as to why he had clung to America so much and now acted like the Tsundere he was.

England stiffened, a sharp pain jabbing his heart like a knife. He hated how France could read him so easily, better than he knew himself sometimes which made it worse. He felt so naked when he was around him, like he had no secrets that he could keep to himself. It was one of the many reasons he got so frustrated with the French nation.

France's expression then became more lustful, sending shivers down England's spine. "Et Sul quelqu'un comme moi peut sortir, avec un punk ex perverti comme vous, n'est-ce pas?" he teased. Only he knew the real England, the kind of person he was and all that he had achieved. Back in the day, he could have given America a run for his money.

England clicked his teeth in frustration. He was still so angry at France right now but at the same time his body was yearning for his touch. He loved France so much it hurt. He then yanked with his free hand on France's scarf and pulled him into another kiss. The latter eagerly returning his gesture, showing his desire was very mutual.

They kissed sloppily, with want and need. England breaking free of his grasp to wind his fingers in France's soft blonde waves even tugging it a little as he kissed him. They crashed and bumped into everything in sight as they continued their frenzied make out session. Somehow managing to close the door behind them as they did so.

Somehow in the whole situation. They got so into it they ended up having some very rough sex in the bedroom, a lot more passionate than their usual tender sex. A lot more teasing, a lot of scratching (on England's half) a lot of teasing (as payback on France's half) and a lot of biting. It was fair to say both men would be very sore afterwards and the following morning.

* * *

The room was filled with heavy breathing, along with the smell of sex and sweat that lingered in the air. The two males both visibly worn out from their little romp earlier. However, they felt a lot better than they had earlier in the evening. They would have to try more angry sex in the future. It certainly helped vent their frustrations.

England lay on his back staring into the ceiling as if it were an endless abyss. Staring at the dancing shadows on the ceiling, as well as his lingering fairy friends who were watching them. "Did you really mean it? I mean… what you said earlier?" he asked curiously. Though it sounded strange, even he had his moments of insecurities about his own self-worth.

France who was laid on his front turned onto his side flashing England an annoyed look through his now messy waves "You're asking the _country_ of love about if I really meant it when I said I love you?!" he scoffed defensively. He had quite a nerve asking him such a thing, he should have spanked him too for that cheek.

England turned to look at him pouting. He had better not be acting dense after their previous fight, he really wasn't in the mood for it right now. "You know what I mean. About all that stuff you said before" he grumbled. All the stuff he had said about his appearance and emotions.

France blinked at him in awe then his expression softened causing him to smile fondly at England. His adoration for the British male showing visibly on his face. His boyfriend really was the biggest Tsundere on the face of the planet. But at least it was never boring, that much he could confirm for himself. But that was why he loved him.

"Oui" he replied tenderly his blue eyes filled with affection. He had always loved England, ever since they were kids had he been in love with the British male. Watching him grow to become the pirate, punk and powerful nation he had become infamous as. That was something that would never change.

England's face was then adorned with a profuse blush. However, a small smile spread across his face and a tingly feeling lingered in his heart upon hearing that one word. However, if France so much as breathed a word to this, his payback would be painful indeed. He would make him pay dearly for even so much as accidentally letting it slip.

He then laughed awkwardly averting his gaze "In all honesty, I always believed you would get tired of me. That you would think of me as boring and leave. Though it sounds stupid… even someone like me can get insecure" he admitted shyly. He supposed it was because all his life, he had never really been seen as amazing in anyone else's eyes.

France's smile grew and love ached his heart, he then leaned over to place a gentle kiss on his lover's head. "Parfois il faut quelqu'un d'autre pour voir a quell point vous êtes special" he replied tenderly. Everyone was something special in another's eyes, however to that person they were the most average person in the entire world.

England snorted in amusement but was very touched by his comment. He then slowly moved towards the Frenchman, closing the gap between the two of them. Slowly he rested his head on Frances chest, feeling his heartbeat within him. Eventually he began to fade into sleep as France held him close. Listening to the quiet of the night.

 _ **Translations**_

 **Angleterre? Ou êtes vous?-England where are you?**

 **Quelque chose est arrive?-did something happen?**

 **Je suis désole les femmes. Mais je crains que mon petit ami ne suit re confortant-I'm sorry ladies. But I fear my boyfriend may be in need of comforting**

 **Pourquoi me repoussez-vous? Tes blessures, mais tu ne peux pas me le dire? Votre amant?!-Why are you pushing me away? Your hurting but you can't tell me? Your lover?!**

 **Oui Angleterre-Yes England**

 **Et Sul quelqu'un comme moi peut sortir, avec un punk ex perverti comme vous, n'est-ce pas?-And only someone like me can date an ex perverted punk like you, Isn't that right?**

 **Parfois il faut quelqu'un d'autre pour voir a quell point vous êtes special-Sometimes it takes someone else to see how special you are**


End file.
